Grey

23

She started styling me.

It's been about 3 months.
I'm dropping a project soon.

And I know rough times are coming.

I'm gonna be on the road, flying across the world, touring, performing and collaborating.

I don't know how we're gonna mange but all I can do right now is hope and put my trust in our love for each other.

I don't doubt that she'd stick with a nigga.

But I can't be surprised if something goes wrong, sometimes shit happens.

I can't focus on that though.

Gotta appreciate every moment I have with her.

And in this moment I think I'm falling even deeper.

She's in my closet room, picking out fits for my shoot, I told her I'd model for her but she refused to take any pictures.

I surprised her with 3 cameras, the day after I got back from the studio.

After dinner that night, we went back to our room and she fell asleep on top of me after scrolling Twitter and catching up with her friends from Jamaica.

I scrolled through her likes, most of it was pictures of people, jokes, news and tweets she quoted of cameras she dreamt she had.

I sent them all to myself and decided I'd get her all of them, 3 the next day and one for each month we last.

She cried.

I presented them to her when she got home after a quick trip to an art gallery to meet a friend.

I walked her up to a room on her side of the house, she barely goes over there.

I called one of Nat's assistants and told him I needed a room to be turned into a professional photography studio in 4 hours and he got it done.

I sent him a huge ass check for actually getting that shit done. That nigga a g for real. Mad respect.

I opened the door for her and she walked in I walked her up to the work table, it housed the latest Mac pc and a MacBook pro, a scanner, printer, other expensive shit and the three cameras, and a case with assorted lenses and equipment.

She looked at it for what felt like forever then turned to me, stared at me and I saw tears pool in her eyes.

She jumped on me, wrapping herself around, she was warm, comfortable.

I grabbed her, squeezed her.

I whispered "I love you."

And she said it back.

I felt it in my feet.

Better than weed.

"I love you." She repeated.

She lived in that studio.

But I was never neglected, we spent our time together, doing creative shit.

If she was editing I was her second opinion.

When she'd smoke and wrote ideas on a white wall, I was right there, smoking, pacing or laying back and telling her my ideas so she could not them down.

And today.

She's styling me.

Every detail accounted for.

Jewelry, placement, order.

Shirt, she wanted "something different, something that was the opposite of me but cool enough to bring out the ice in my mouth."

Everything.

It was amazing to watch.

When she walked me around the house telling me to "tek a draw of your blunt and then do whatever" she got the perfect shot.

After she took it she just stared at it for a while.

I was wondering if there was a problem.

When I saw it I understood, I felt like I could understand what she saw when she looks at me.

I was never really cocky.

But this picture, this girl.

Ain't no doubting my greatness with her in my life man.